As I prepare for Christmas, memories of past Christmases come to mind, and one stands out. It was December 24^th, and my husband and I were ready to leave to visit our parents for a few days. Just as we were about to load our 18-month and three-year-olds into the car, the little one vomited. It was then I noticed he also had a fever. And that was the end of our carefully laid plans.

Our contribution to the dinner that evening was a cheese ball and crackers, and since we had planned to be away for several days, our dinner options were limited—a cheese ball and crackers. The freezer held uncooked, rock-hard items, and that was it. There weren’t many restaurants in our small town then, and only one was open for take-out on Christmas Eve, so Chinese food it was.

After doing all we could to treat the little one, we eventually stripped him to his diaper to help cool him down until the medication took full effect. We popped him into his high chair while we sat down to eat our dinner.

That’s when we heard a sound and then another, much like pouring rain. It was not a gentle cleansing rain. It was the contents of his diaper streaming onto the carpet. A bath, a change, back to a chillier dinner, and then it happened again. And again. After the third time, since he wasn’t in distress, he waited until I consumed my thoroughly cold dinner. Welcome to the world before microwaves!

That memory makes me laugh, but as with many experiences, it wasn’t funny at the time. It was exhausting and disappointing.

Revisiting this Christmas memory, I can’t help but think of the difference between my experience and Mary’s. Although we both experienced a change of plans, I had a warm, clean home (yes, I cleaned because I hate coming home to a dirty house), medication for a sick child, a bathtub with hot and cold running water, and the option for a Plan B dinner that someone else prepared.

What about Mary? She would have been exhausted, too, because she would have walked a long way with her baby still inside. She and Joseph needed to find somewhere to stay, and hearing that there was no room at their preferred B&B would have ended their carefully laid plans and added another level of stress to an already stressful situation. Remember, they couldn’t book a reservation using the internet or telephone. They eventually landed in a stable, not the most sterile environment for a home birth, with none of the amenities I enjoyed. I slept (sort of) in my own bed that night, while she would have slept (I use that term loosely) on a makeshift bed, probably made of straw.

Mary had a rough introduction to childbirth, but God was in control. Her grit and strength amaze me for one so young. She had coped with all of the ramifications of her miraculous pregnancy so far, and I’m sure she knew God wouldn’t abandon her through the birthing process.

That night, remembered through the centuries, was part of God’s plan. Mary and Joseph’s carefully laid plans ended, but God’s son was born in that humble dwelling by design. He didn’t enter the world in a palace or a fancy birthing suite. He was born as one of us—part of the real world where circumstances don’t always align with our ideals. But where he made his entrance doesn’t discount or detract from who he was and is—the Saviour of the World.

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6 (ESV)

Christmas may not be a time of warm and fuzzy memories for you. This season can heighten feelings of loneliness and loss for some and evoke unpleasant memories for others. Whatever your situation, I pray that you see the love of God through the Christmas story—a God who loved us so much that he sent his son to redeem the world. That God loves you.

To read the full story from Mary’s pregnancy through to the birth of the Saviour in Luke 1 & 2, click this link: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+1-2&version=NIV.

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